


Drunk Man's Words

by morrnrhu64



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Is that what they call it?, M/M, Some angst, because my inquisitor is a dick, boooooooooze, drinking buddies, mid-night kitchen raids, my inquisitor's a dick, pre-slash?, seriously Dorian is way too classy for him, some slight vivienne-bashing, when there'll be m/m later on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 01:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8778082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morrnrhu64/pseuds/morrnrhu64
Summary: Inquisitor Max Trevelyan can't sleep.This is a job for alcohol.





	

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  *whisper whisper* If you wanted to read Max's dialogue with a highland accent that'd be totally ok  
> 

Max woke in a cold sweat yet again. Cool as he tried to play it, the whole destruction-of-Haven thing had shaken him up. They'd been a fortnight at Skyhold, and he still had nightmares about that dragon razing the villagers, young and old alike. It was horrifying to remember the smell of charred flesh, the sight of smoking bodies half-buried in the snow. 

He wanted to forget, but booze could only do so much. And it's not like he could talk about it. Who would he tell? What would he even say?

It would be pointless and stupid, and it would make him look weak. Which, granted, he was, but he generally didn't care to broadcast that to the world at large. He had to at least pretend he had it together, for the sake of the masses flocking to this bloody (er, hopefully not _too_ literally) inquisition.

Max groaned and put his face in his hands, trying to will the nausea away. How had he gotten himself into this? How the fuck had he done it this time?

He stood unsteadily and got dressed. It was fucking cold in the Frostbacks, and the occasional hole in the keep wall didn't help, either. He was going to have to trek to the kitchen and find something drinkable. Maybe then he could get some sleep. Maybe he could forget the screaming for just a little while.

The main hall was quiet, for once--empty of all but a few guards here and there. Even Solas had abandoned the rotunda he'd more or less claimed for himself. He'd started painting the walls, too--Max couldn't tell what it'd be, but it was a grand, sweeping thing. Odd--he hadn't pegged Solas for the artistic type.

Getting to the kitchen was annoying, but less of a hassle with no one else around. Max had to step over a few of the cats, who sprawled out to sleep anywhere they liked with no regard for people walking--and of course, they'd screech like a banshee if you dared step on their nigh-invisible tails. But he managed to navigate that treacherous path, and made it to the kitchen in one piece. It was warmer in there, at least. Max poked at the hearth and searched for something strong enough to help. No way he'd be walking all the way to the fucking tavern. Not for a night-cap.

'Whisky, whisky,' Max mumbled to himself, turning various bottles around so he could see them. 'Ale, ale, ugh, whisky. I guess this'll have to do...'

'What'll have to do?'

The voice coming from the doorway startled him badly enough that he almost dropped the damn bottle.

'Shite! Dorian, you near-scared the shit outta me,' Max complained, putting the bottle down again.

'Oh, dear. That would've been a sight, indeed,' Dorian said, smirking. 'You didn't answer my question, incidentally.'

Max sighed. 'There is a decent chance that I was gonna try and booze myself to sleep. Wanted a bit of brandy, but I think Cabot has it under lock and key. Ought to learn to share.'

'Not worth the journey,' Dorian agreed. 'What have you got--ale?'

'Whisky. Want some?'

'Mm. I'd better.' 

Max offered him the bottle and let him drink first.

'No glass?'

'Dunno where they are,' Max said with a shrug. 'Don't really care, either. Just... just wanna sleep.'

'It would be nice,' Dorian agreed, sighing. 'But that's what the tavern is for. Or, in a pinch, mid-night kitchen raids.'

'Aye.' Dorian passed the bottle over, and Max took a pull big enough that it left him coughing around a burning throat. 'Shite.'

'A bit strong, but serviceable.'

They stood on opposite sides of the table, leaning against the worktops that lined either wall. For a bit, Max just looked at Dorian. He was a good-looking bastard, that was for sure. And being such a flirt (and floozy), Max had been chatting him up on and off since they met. But normally, he'd have talked himself into bed, by this point. How long had it been? A month, two? Longer? Max's conquests usually ran from two minutes to two hours of flirting. It was kinda weird, how Dorian was all coy and playin' hard-to-get. Bit more fun, certainly, but Max was starting to worry about how this'd turn out.

'Cause if he liked Dorian... like, really liked Dorian... what the hell was he going to do? He couldn't, like, sleep with him, if they got to know each other much better. Because, no. He'd _know_ things. He would know too many things, and then he might start asking questions, or putting pieces together--he might figure it all out, and then he'd either be disgusted with Max or he'd pity Max. And both were terrible options. Maybe it'd be best to back out now--quit while he was ahead, before anything unsavoury or embarrassing came to light.

But looking at Dorian... just looking at him, with the weak firelight playing over his face, his grey eyes with that far-away look they got when he was lost in thought... looking at him while thinking that he'd stay away was weirdly... _painful_ , like. Actually, Max would really hate to give up the flirting, the teasing, the camaraderie. It was sort of nice, knowing someone who was as much of a drunkard as he was. It was sort of nice to know somebody who didn't get on with his family. It was more than Max had ever really had in common with someone his age. Honestly, Dorian was the only person around his age that Max had ever really gotten to know at all. As a kid, he'd never had the chance; as an adult, he hadn't given enough of a shite. This was new for him. It was weird, yeah, but still... nice.

Ugh. Max wanted to roll his eyes at himself. He sounded like a total fucking loony. It was the sleep-deprivation making him stupid--had to be. He was an idiot, yeah, but this was too much, even for him. He had another drink of whisky, as if it could burn the stupidity out of his head like it burned away the lining of his throat.

'I need to get laid,' he announced, putting the bottle aside so he could scrub at his face. 'Fuck me, I'm a wreck.'

Dorian laughed at that. 'While I agree that getting laid is never a bad thing, I'm not sure I understand what you mean when you call yourself a "wreck". Unless, of course, you are referring to that awful shirt you're wearing. Because then you'd be perfectly correct.'

Max look at his shirt, tugging at the hem self-consciously. ''S not that bad,' he protested.

'It is,' said Dorian. 'Trust me.'

'Is that why I've yet to find a bunk-mate?' Max suggested. 'How's a man to get a date around here? What do you suggest?'

'I suppose it depends on your quarry,' said Dorian, seeming oddly... evasive. 'But in general, hygiene and sobriety seem to be universally appealing.'

'Well, you've got one of those, at least,' Max teased him. 'It must be this shirt. I did fine back at Haven. And everywhere before that. Either it's the shirt, or the keep, and I can't leave the keep with that--darkspawn magister thing flying around and crushing chantries. Fuckin' arse-biscuit.'

'Pick up a new jacket the next time we pass through Val Royaux,' Dorian suggested, smiling a little. 'If I may make a suggestion--dark blue would suit you. Stay away from gold brocade, though. Too Orlesian.'

'I would rather die than be Orlesian,' Max confided. 'I swear, those fucking masks will haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life.'

'I just wish I knew why,' said Dorian. 'I asked Vivienne, but of course she can never answer a question--no, she's got to be condescendingly vague, or else it'd break the illusion of her being better than everyone else.'

'And we can't be having that,' Max agreed, trying not to laugh too hard. 'Can't stand her. If I'd known she'd be so insufferable, I never would've agreed to ally up with her. Didn't want to, in the first place, since she actually likes those fucking Circles, but Josephine thought it'd be best to take any alliance we could get at the time. You know, so those little old chantry ladies didn't swarm me and tear me limb from limb in the marketplace, I guess.'

'Wouldn't that be a sight,' Dorian laughed, too. Max tried to ignore the weird fluttery feeling in his chest. 'Still, you know what they say: keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.'

'I would prefer it if my enemies would go fuck themselves,' Max said honestly. 'Maybe somewhere I don't want to be--like Orlais. That'd be nice. Then I could go somewhere that's not a frozen wasteland, and get some fuckin' sleep.'

'Here, again, we stand in mutual understanding of mankind's folly,' Dorian sighed. 'And to think that we might not have met, but for your incredibly bad luck.'

'It's true. Honestly, I'm not even surprised anymore. The weirder shit that happens to me, the more I'm convinced to just take it at face value. I mean, what--either I'm crazy or I'm wrong. And I'm always crazy and often wrong, in general. So it's nothing new. Might as well go along for the ride, aye?'

Dorian was looking at him strangely. 'I admit, that's not the answer I expected from you. Surely this can't mean that you have hidden depths.'

'What do they say? Still waters run deep? I dunno, the fuckin' Waking Sea looked pretty damned deep, and it's the worst for sea-faring I've ever been through. Was sea-sick for days. Even the noisy ones can be deep, I think. Or the crazy ones, or the prissy ones, or the angry ones. I suppose it don't matter what the outside is like; the inside might be different, either way.'

'You have the charming habit of dispensing little tidbits of wisdom embedded in scandalous language and horrifying grammar when you're drunk,' said Dorian. 'Are you aware of it, or can it only happen when you don't think too hard?'

'Em,' said Max, blinking. 'Maybe? I dunno. I think I'm drunk now.'

Dorian laughed again. 'Perhaps you should go to bed.'

'Yeah. If I pass out in the kitchen, I might scare the maid with my hang-over.' Max offered the bottle to Dorian one last time and, after being refused, put the whisky back where he'd found it. 'Well. I suppose sleeping is worth a shot. Talk to you later, then?'

'Undoubtedly,' said Dorian, still looking amused. 'Do try not to fall and break your neck on the stairs. It'd be a hassle to clean up.'

Max winked at him. 'No promises.'


End file.
